


Friday at Four

by Kliegology



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Detective Diego Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Drug Addiction, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kliegology/pseuds/Kliegology
Summary: Diego's life takes a nosedive when he's forced out of work and into an art therapy class. He's clinging to his last shred of normality when he meets Klaus, who takes one look at him and threatens to tear it away.“I think you’ll find you have a lot in common with the other people there,” The Therapist said, watching him shrewdly.Diego was vividly reminded of the jittery, barefoot man in the pink fluffy cardigan. He snorted. “I don’t think so.”





	1. Chapter 1

_Incredible artwork by[just-themys](https://just-themys-fanarts.tumblr.com/). _

* * *

Diego was well accustomed to dealing with difficult situations. He had wrestled men into handcuffs, chased suspects down dark alleyways and even once been grazed by a bullet. But not once had he felt less at ease than he did now. He glowered at the sheet of paper on the easel before him, turning the chunk of charcoal over in his hand.

“Look at the subject,” Agnes told him brightly, leaning over his shoulder. “Not the paper.”

Diego turned his scowl on the bowl of fruit in the centre of the room. It was stiflingly hot in the studio, sun beating down through the vaulted glass windows that made up one wall and half the roof. The group of students were gathered in a circle in the centre of the space, clutching sticks of charcoal and scratching at easels with varying levels of success.

Diego glanced uneasily around. An elderly couple with deep frown lines were focusing steadfastly on their easels at the opposite side of the room. A dark-haired woman around his own age was sat gazing dreamily out of the window a couple of seats away from him.

To his right, a teenage boy with dark circles under his eyes was methodically applying the last few strokes of charcoal to his work. The child’s drawing could almost have passed for a black and white photograph.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” the kid told him, setting down his charcoal with an air of deep disinterest. He glanced disparagingly at Diego’s drawing. “You either have it or you don’t.”

Privately, Diego agreed with him. He definitely didn’t have it.

He’d told his new therapist the same thing just yesterday, when she’d enthusiastically produced a flyer and announced that an art class would be a good idea.

The therapy sessions had been suggested by his boss, Chuck, following The Incident. He and Diego had deeply differing views on the best way for him to spend his enforced time off work. Diego would have been far happier lying on the couch in his boxers, drinking beer and pretending he didn’t exist.

The one-on-one therapy sessions were bad enough. Playing Picasso with a group of misfits was not going to improve matters. He tightened his fist around the stick of charcoal, crushing it to dust.

At the opposite side of the room, Agnes was crouching down with her back to him, helping the elderly lady capture the curving leaves of a wilting pot plant. Diego glanced to his side, to see the young boy had produced a heavy book from his bag, and was now deeply absorbed in its pages. Everyone else was still staring at their paper, frustration etched into their faces.

Setting the remnants of his charcoal down, Diego got slowly to his feet. He glanced around once more as he backed away from the easel, towards the door, moving lightly over the wooden floorboards. He was mere feet away from freedom when Agnes lifted her head, turning to survey the class. Diego panicked and span on his heel, reaching out a hand to push open the heavy wooden door.

The door swung open as he reached for it, and Diego’s open palm landed forcefully upon the chest of a man on the opposite side, sending him flying backwards towards the stairs, emitting a shrill squeal as he did so.

“Shit,” Diego said. He grabbed the man by the neck of his t-shirt and hauled him back upright. The studio was on the top floor of an old industrial building, and the stairwell plunged steeply down towards an unforgiving concrete floor.

“Oh,” the man blinked at him as he was dragged back into a standing position. He lifted a hand to rub at his neck, wincing. “Um. Thank you?”

Diego glanced back over his shoulder to see his chance of a quiet escape had been foiled. The entire class had looked up at the sound of the man’s shriek, charcoal lowered as they watched the exchange. Agnes gazed, wide-eyed, between Diego and the door, looking so deeply disappointed that he felt almost guilty. The annoying teenager merely rolled his eyes, returning to his book.

The man in the doorway leaned sideways to look over Diego’s shoulder and breathlessly greeted the gathering. “Sorry, I’m late,” he said. “I nearly got knocked down the stairs.”

“Hang on,” Diego protested, as Agnes made a sympathetic clucking noise behind him. “You were already late.”

The man merely winked at him, eyes crinkling in amusement. Despite his near fall, he seemed almost to vibrate with excess energy. Tall and lithe, he bounced up and down on the balls of bare, dirty feet. He was wearing a snug pair of striped trousers and a long, pink, fluffy cardigan, slung over a white t-shirt with a black handprint. The man glanced down at his own chest and hummed thoughtfully, opening his cardigan wider to regard the print.

“You know, that actually adds something,” he said. He patted Diego on the shoulder before sliding past him and into the room.

In dawning comprehension, Diego glanced down at his hands. They were black with charcoal.

He looked once more around the room. The man he had nearly knocked out had taken the chair next to Diego’s abandoned seat. He smiled when their eyes met, cocking his head to one side and patting the empty seat at his side.

Diego looked from the man, to Agnes, to the pathetic excuse for a drawing still on display on his abandoned easel. He shook his head and slipped out through the door, letting it fall closed behind him as he set off, in a jog, down the stairs.

He let out a breath of relief when he reached the street; glad to be out of the stifling atmosphere of the studio. He looked back up at the imposing building he had left behind. Its dirty grey brick walls contrasted with the wide glass windows that lined the top floor, glittering golden in the light. He thought he could make out a figure waving down at him from behind the glass. Ducking his head, he shoved his charcoal stained hands deep into his pocket and set off down the street.

…

“Did you attend the art therapy session I recommended?”

Diego grunted and gave a half shrug, eyes focused on a pigeon strutting along the window ledge outside. The Therapist’s office smelled strongly of peppermint tea, and was artfully decorated with abstract paintings and strategically placed boxes of tissues. The Therapist had placed one such box hopefully on the coffee table when they had sat down. Diego had no intention of needing it.

She was now leaning forwards in her chair, regarding him steadily through narrowed eyes. Her tightly curled platinum-blonde hair framed the sharp lines of her face and her pursed lips were painted a dark shade of red. On another woman, Diego might have found the look distracting. On The Therapist, he found it discomfiting.

“You hated it,” she filled in for him, after a full minute of silence had passed.

Diego frowned. He was already expected to spend an hour a week of his free time with this woman. He didn’t think it was too much to ask to spend it in silence.

“Not my scene,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“I think you’ll find you have a lot in common with the other people there,” The Therapist said, watching him shrewdly.

Diego was vividly reminded of the jittery, barefoot man in the pink fluffy cardigan. He snorted. “I don’t think so.”

They spent the remainder of the session in total silence. Diego counted down the time remaining by the ticking of the clock on the wall above The Therapist’s head. The woman sat perfectly still, pen poised over her notepad, as if expecting him to begin talking at any moment. He smirked to himself in bleak satisfaction. She’d have to wait a lot longer than that.

“I’d like you to try again,” she told him, when she eventually stood up, signalling the end of the session. “It’s been extremely beneficial for some of my other clients. Spending time in a social environment could really help you recover from your-”

“ _Fine_ ,” Diego cut her off, brusquely. He was under no illusion here. This woman, with her artfully arranged tissues and her peppermint tea addiction was in complete and total control of his future. He couldn’t return to work without her approval. And if that meant daubing a few canvases with paint, then he’d just had to suck it up and do it. “I’ll think about it.”

The Therapist gave him a tight smile, and held out the bowl of toffees kept on her desk. Diego took a large handful for compensation.

“Friday at four,” the woman reminded him, as she opened the door. “I’ll tell Agnes to expect you.”

Teeth stuck together with toffee, Diego merely scowled in response as he was ushered unceremoniously out of the room and back into the waiting area. He turned and gave the door the finger as the woman closed it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt floating around on Tumblr:
> 
> _'Therapy AU: My therapist suggested art therapy, and I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m distracted by you, another person in the workshop, and how gorgeous you are'_
> 
> Expect regular updates. Leave a comment and help yourself to a toffee on the way out!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What makes you think I don’t like being flirted with?” Diego asked, turning to face the man. “Maybe you’re just not very good at it.”

Allison stopped by his apartment on Friday morning, carrying two cups of takeaway coffee and a box of doughnuts. She waltzed in with an overly cheerful smile, watching him carefully as she handed him the coffee (black, three sugars) and set the doughnuts down on the kitchen table.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

Her eyes were flickering around the mess littering the apartment: the dirty dishes in the sink, the beer bottles lining the kitchen counters, the nest of blankets on the couch. She looked back at him, the beginnings of a frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead. Diego took a sip of the coffee, and forced a smile on to his face.

“Getting on with it,” he said.

“Is the therapy going ok?” Allison asked him carefully. She sat down at the kitchen table with the air of someone who had no intention of leaving any time soon. Diego supposed he couldn’t complain. He had nowhere to go, and they both knew it. He sat down next to her and chose a doughnut from the box.

“She’s a bitch,” he said simply, ignoring Allison’s frown of disapproval at his choice of words.

“I bet she’s not that bad. What’s her name again?”

“Uh…” Diego paused and stared down at his coffee, brow furrowed. “The Therapist? My Handler? The Pain in my Ass? Take your pick.”

Allison punched him lightly on the arm. “You idiot. If you can’t even be bothered to remember her name, you’re never going to get on with her.”

“I don’t need to get on with her. I just need to go to the sessions for another four weeks, attend her shitty art classes, and get that fucking signature saying I can get the hell back to work.”

Diego slammed his fist against the kitchen table, and then winced immediately, pressing it to his mouth. His voice had risen to a crescendo as he spoke and Allison was watching him with open concern.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You know…” Allison began. She reached out to examine his fist, but he shook her off impatiently. “Eudora would have-“

Diego stood up abruptly, the screech of the chair masking her words. “Don’t.”

“Okay,” Allison held her hands up in surrender. “Okay.”

She sat in silence, nibbling daintily at a raspberry glazed doughnut while Diego stormed around the kitchen, filling the sink with bubbly water and throwing beer bottles into the trash. He began scrubbing at the dirty dishes, the water so hot his hands turned lobster red.

“Did you say _art classes_?” Allison asked, after a few minutes had passed. She had kicked off her heels and had her feet resting on the table.

“No,” Diego lied, tone grumpy.

“You did,” Allison said gleefully. She smiled properly for the first time since she’d entered the apartment. “Art therapy, huh? Serves you right for being such a moody fucker.”

Diego snorted, relieved they had fallen back into their usual teasing routine. He cared deeply for his sister, but he didn’t want her doe-eyed concern or sympathetic words. He set the last of the dishes on the draining board to dry.

“It’s full of nutcases. There’s this one guy who comes without any shoes.”

Allison looked thrilled. “Can I come?”

The only thing that could possibly make those classes any worse, Diego thought, was attending with his world-famous, film star sister. He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

He gave up on tidying after that, and they spent the day playing Grand Theft Auto, curled up on the tangled mess of blankets that littered the couch. They finished the doughnuts instead of eating lunch, and Diego looked mournfully down at his abs as he licked the last of the sugar from his fingers. He was going to need to get back to the gym if he wanted to sustain this kind of lifestyle for the next four weeks.

At three o’clock he disappeared into the bedroom to get ready for the art class, deciding he should at least bother to change out of his sweatpants. He pulled on tight jeans, a fresh white t-shirt and a battered leather jacket. He paused to run some product through his hair. It had been too long since he’d had it trimmed and it kept falling forwards, brushing irritatingly against his forehead.

Allison raised an eyebrow at him when he emerged. “You look nice.”

“So?” Diego said grumpily.

“So which of the nutcases are you trying to impress?” she asked, smirking.

…

Thick drops of rain were beginning to fall when Diego approached the art studio. He ducked through the door into the building’s entrance hall. The space was bare except for a notice board listing a variety of classes, from music lessons on the seventh floor to boxing on the second.

He wondered if The Therapist would consider boxing a suitable alternative to art therapy. In his experience, throwing a few punches usually made him feel better. Checking his watch, he reluctantly crossed the space and set off up the rusting flight of metal stairs directly before him. He climbed to the tenth floor, cursing the lack of an elevator, and arrived breathing heavily at the top.

He had made a conscious effort to arrive early for the class, keen to avoid any lingering stares when he walked in.

His plan seemed to have backfired.

He pushed open the door to find the strange man he had nearly knocked over last week had already arrived. He was sat crossed legged on Agnes’s desk at the end of the room, flicking through a sketchbook. The moody teenage boy was at his side, studying the pages with interest.

As Diego entered, they both looked up. The strange man beamed at him. The teenager scowled.

“He came back,” the man announced. He snapped his fingers at the boy, holding out his hand. “You owe me five, Five.”

The boy reluctantly withdrew a five dollar bill from his pocket and placed it in the man’s outstretched hand. He scowled at Diego again and then wandered off to his seat, pulling another book from his bag. The strange man closed his sketchbook and slid gracefully off the desk, crossing the room to stand in front of Diego.

He was barelegged as well as barefoot this week, wearing a knee-length leather skirt. He had paired the skirt with a sheer top and velvet blazer, and his green eyes were ringed with thick, smoky liner. The end result was that Diego was left not knowing where to look.

The man offered him his hand and Diego shook it warily. The man’s fingers were long and pale, dotted with paint and adorned with rings.

“Well this is a bit more civilised than our last meeting,” the man said. “Should we start again? Hi! I’m Klaus.”

“Diego,” Diego muttered in response. He resisted the urge to point out that Klaus’s skirt was anything _but_ civilised. He edged past the man and chose a chair in the corner of the room nearest the door.

Klaus followed him, selecting the chair at the next easel along. He sat down and lifted one ankle to rest on his opposite knee, revealing an indecent expanse of bare skin. Diego averted his eye and stared instead at the empty easel in front of him.

“I’m glad you’ve come back,” Klaus said, apparently not dissuaded by Diego’s silence. “I thought I’d scared you off.”

Diego snorted in amusement. “I’d like to see you try.”

The man made a pleased noise, and rested his hands on his chin, watching Diego with bright eyes. “Would you now?”

Diego was saved from having to answer by Agnes, who tumbled through the door clutching a mannequin bust dressed in a sequinned shirt. She smiled around at them, and winked at Diego.

“Welcome back,” she mouthed, in what he thought was an attempt to be discreet.

“Now, now, Agnes,” Klaus had leapt up from his chair to relieve her off the mannequin, setting it carefully on the table in the centre of the circle of easels. “I know he’s _gorgeous_ , but he doesn’t like being flirted with. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Agnes tutted and ruffled the man’s hair affectionately as the other class members began to drift in through the door. Klaus scuttled hurriedly back to claim his seat next to Diego, shooting him a coy glance and straightening his skirt where it had bunched up around his thighs.

“What makes you think I don’t like being flirted with?” Diego asked, turning to face the man. “Maybe you’re just not very good at it.”

Klaus’s mouth fell open in astonishment. He gaped for a second, and then began to answer, but was cut off by Agnes beginning to talk.

“I thought we’d gear up to drawing some portraits,” she told the gathering, gesturing excitedly at the mannequin. “I found this young lady in a skip on the way over here, and it seemed like fate. We can all practice with her today.”

Klaus shifted his chair closer, leaning into the space between them while the woman was talking. “I’ll have you know I am _extremely_ good at it,” he whispered. “Better than you anyway.”

“Just to clarify,” Diego muttered, leaning in closer so as not to be overheard. “I am _not_ trying to flirt with you.”

“Or,” Klaus said, brightly, forgetting to whisper. “You _are_. And you just don’t know it yet.”

“Klaus,” Agnes said, making her way over. The others had all picked up pencils and were beginning to sketch. “Let Diego concentrate.”

“Oh!” Klaus fluttered his eyelashes. “I’m sorry, Diego. Am I distracting you?”

“You wish,” Diego grumbled. He picked up his pencil and stabbed viciously at the piece of paper in front of him.

“It’s a pencil, Diego,” Agnes said reproachfully. “Not a knife.”

Diego spent the rest of the class ignoring Klaus, despite the man’s frequent attempts to make conversation. Eventually, the man gave up, removing a pair of headphones from his bag, and looking pointedly at Diego as he slipped them on.

Diego grinned, and continued to stab at his piece of paper with his pencil. The room was filled with the sound of rain beating down hard on the vaulted windows. Klaus began to hum next to him, bare foot tapping in time with the music drifting from his headphones.

Diego leaned over to get a better look at the man’s drawing. It was… _bizarre_. The mannequin looked at if she had been drawn from several different angles at once, which, from the amount of bopping up and down the man had been doing, Diego supposed was intentional. Her nose was twisted, and her eyebrows impossibly arched.

Diego glanced back at his own, relatively normal, sketch. Inexplicably, Klaus’s was still better. The man saw him comparing the two and leaned over. He eyed Diego’s easel critically.

“It’s not that bad,” he shouted, over the noise of his headphones.

The entire class looked up at the exclamation. Five appeared suddenly at Diego’s shoulder, making him jump in his seat. “It’s _quite_ bad,” the boy said.

…

The rain stopped beating down on the windows and the class eventually dragged to an end. Diego half expected Klaus to hang back afterwards, to continue his barrage of flirting. But the man simply rolled up his drawing and tucked it under his arm, avoiding Diego’s wary eye. He was out of his seat before Diego had time to remove his drawing from the easel. The man turned away from him without a word and took a step towards the door.

“You here next week?” Diego asked after him, reluctantly.

Klaus turned, raising an eyebrow. “Does it make a difference to you?”

“Yeah,” Diego said. “If you’re coming, I’ll know to stay at home.”

Klaus pouted, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Diego turned in his chair to watch him pad barefoot over to the door, sashaying slightly in his leather skirt. He glanced back over his shoulder as he went through it, and smiled properly at the sight of Diego still watching. As he disappeared from the room, Diego was left with the distinct impression that he’d just lost a game he hadn’t known he’d been playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Commenters get to share doughnuts with Diego. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’d like to explore how what happened has affected your approach to relationships,” The Therapist said, folding her hands in her lap. “Of a romantic or sexual nature.”

Diego spent the weekend slumped in a stupor on the couch. It was almost a relief when Monday morning rolled around and he was forced to get up, and shower, and actually, finally, leave the building. He had therapy that morning. In an effort to convince his handler he was a happy and stable human being, he even ironed his shirt. He left the apartment feeling a little more human. But little more than an hour later, he was wishing he had stayed firmly at home.

“I’d like to explore how what happened has affected your approach to relationships,” The Therapist said, folding her hands in her lap. “Of a romantic or sexual nature.”

  
Diego choked on his mouthful of peppermint tea, spluttering it over his chin and onto his shirt. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the coffee table and patted it vigorously dry. It was only Monday and, already, it was shaping up to be a terrible week.

The Therapist continued as if she hadn’t noticed his response. “It can be very easy to close yourself off from intimacy, when something like this occurs.”

“We weren’t together,” Diego said. “At the time.”

“But you had been previously,” The Therapist said, eyes narrowing.

“Not for two months,” Diego said. He remembered his and Eudora’s last, fiery argument before the break-up. They had been terribly suited. Both too headstrong, they never agreed on anything and got by on a combination of good sex and even better adrenaline highs.

“Nevertheless,” The Therapist continued. “That increased intimacy will have heightened your response to her d-“

“When can I go back to work?” Diego interrupted. He tipped the rest of his peppermint tea purposefully into a nearby pot plant, meeting her eye as he did so.

“We still have another three sessions,” The Therapist said brightly, her painted scarlet smile still firmly in place. “If you want to go back to work. I suggest you start making the most of them.”

She stood up abruptly, and strode over to the door, despite there being five minutes left on the clock. She thrust the bowl of toffees under his nose as he went to leave. Diego shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out without taking one.

“Remember your art class,” The Therapist called out, as he stormed out of the waiting room. “Friday at four.”

He slammed the door behind him, breathing heavily, chest tight.

…

He had dinner that night with Allison and her new boyfriend. A giant, hulking man with broad shoulders and a concerned expression that mirrored Allison’s own. Diego took an immediate dislike to him and made a- not inconsiderable- effort to crush his fingers as they shook hands.

The man didn’t so much as wince, slapping Diego amiably on the arm when they parted. “Nice to meet you, buddy.”

Allison beamed at the two of them, slipping her hand around the hulking man’s arm. “Diego, this is Luther.”

Diego bared his teeth in lieu of a smile.

Allison had chosen the restaurant. It was a cavernous hall of a room, with a ceiling that glittered with a dozen extravagant chandeliers. The walls were lined with mirrors which reflected the light. A long bar lined one end of the room, and a man with a French accent took their order.

“Good session with your Handler?” Allison asked him quietly, when Luther got up to use the restroom.

  
“Fucking awful,” Diego said, snapping a breadstick viciously in two. “She wants to talk about sex.”

Allison laughed. “Who doesn’t?”

“Me,” Diego protested. “ _I_ don’t want to. I just want to get on and… and do it-" he stabbed his finger demonstratively into the table- “and then never talk about it ever again. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all,” Allison said, eyes bright with amusement. She took a sip of wine and leaned across the table conspiratorially. “Who do you want to get on and do it with?”

Diego didn’t humour her with a response. He hadn’t met a woman he wanted since Eudora. He sat back in his chair and downed his glass of wine. A tall waiter with dark curls refilled it before he could reach for the bottle and Diego raised his glass to the man, meeting his eye as he downed it a second time.

The man hovered awkwardly, clearly unsure if he should refill it a second time. Allison waved him on.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Diego spent most of it drinking in silence, scowling whenever Luther dared to touch his sister, which was irritatingly often. The two men ended the night with an argument over who was going to pay the bill. They glowered at each other over the table as they each insisted upon paying, voices getting steadily louder until Allison arrived back from the bar, announcing she’d already paid it and simultaneously crushing both of their egos.

…

As the week went on, Diego grew increasingly restless. No longer content to lie around in his apartment, he spent his mornings in the gym, pounding away at punching bags until he was dripping with sweat and every muscle ached.

Much to his annoyance, flyers for art shows had begun to arrive in his mailbox. He supposed his details had been passed on when he registered for the art classes. So much for patient confidentiality. He filtered through them at the kitchen table, grinding his teeth, while the coffee machine whirred in the background. One of them was emblazoned with a painting that reminded him strongly of Klaus’s drawing of the mannequin. Diego paused for a second to examine it and then rolled his eyes. He crumpled the flyer up, without bothering to read it, and threw it across the room into the trash-can.

On Thursday afternoon, when the oppressive quiet of his apartment became too much he headed down to the police station. He hadn’t been near the building for weeks, and as he approached, striding down the busy city street, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease at the familiar sight of its grey concrete walls and wide glass windows.

His mood came crashing down when he entered the office. Eudora’s desk was bare, free from its usual stacks of paperwork and half-drunk cups of coffee. Even her nameplate had been removed. Someone had cleaned and polished the empty desk and the light reflected in its surface, turning it into a gleaming, unavoidable presence in the room. He hovered over it, eyes fixated on the empty seat behind, unable to move.

“Diego,” Chuck’s hand gripped his shoulder, turning him forcibly around. “What are you doing here?”

“You cleared it,” Diego said stupidly. “Her desk.”

“Yeah,” Chuck bit his lip, his voice shaking slightly when he next spoke. “We had to. She’s gone, Diego.”

Diego nodded, swallowing hard. He chewed down on his bottom lip, casting a glance around the office. It felt several degrees colder than he remembered. And quieter. So much quieter.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Chuck told him. He hesitated, glancing between Diego and the empty desk. “But I’m gonna let it slide.”

He handed Diego his cup of coffee and disappeared to make himself a new one. Diego nodded blankly. He sank into Eudora’s chair and spent the rest of the day there, staring into space. At five pm, he thought to open the desk drawer. Eudora’s nameplate had been left inside. He put it carefully back on the desk before standing up, ready to go home.

He was feeling better when he got back to the apartment, and even found himself humming along to the radio as he tipped pasta into a pan. His good mood faltered and then sank, to be replaced with crushing guilt, when he realised exactly what was making him feel happy. It was Friday tomorrow. He was looking forward to the art class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter with angst!? No-one asked for this, I know. But I do have two more chapters to go up this week! Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Free therapy in the comments! Tell me why you fell for Klaus/Diego and exactly how much they are messing with your head. I, for one, have got it _bad._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shall I draw you first?” Klaus asked politely, sharpening a pencil. He looked up at Diego from under lowered lashes. “Or would you like to draw me?”

Friday afternoon was warm and bright. It was beginning to feel like summer and Diego had to work to keep his scowl in place as he set off for the art class, the sun warming his shoulders.

He was only half way down the street to the art studio when he saw Klaus. At the sight of him, he turned on his heel and strode away in the opposite direction. After a few strides, he stopped, cursing softly. Then he span back around and headed reluctantly back towards him. The man was reclining against the brick wall of the building, wearing a pair of lace up leather pants and the tiniest tank top Diego had ever seen on a man.

“Hey,” Klaus said, taking a drag on his cigarette and smirking at the sight of Diego’s indecisive wavering.

“Afternoon,” Diego said stiffly, trying very hard not to look at Klaus’s laced-up legs. He gazed up at the building instead, watching the sun reflect on the top floor windows.

“Shall we go in?” Klaus asked. “Or are you just going to stand there brooding?”

Diego didn’t answer.

“Because I can _really_ get on board with that,” Klaus continued, eyes dragging up and down the length of Diego’s body.

“We’ll go in,” Diego said quickly. He held the door open for the man, who slunk past him, smiling sweetly.

Agnes looked delighted when they walked into the studio together. The rest of the group were already gathered in their customary circle. She ushered them towards the only two empty chairs, at opposite ends of the room.

“Portraits,” she began, addressing the group in a dreamy voice, “are a wonderful way of capturing a person’s essence. I’d like us to pair up this week and draw each other.”

Diego shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, looking between Five on his left, and the elderly couple on his right. He supposed he was stuck drawing the teenage prodigy. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Choose your partners,” Agnes continued, waving a hand around vaguely. “Pick up a pencil, and we’ll get started.”

Five glanced at Diego and then stood up abruptly, heading over to last week’s mannequin who had been left abandoned in the corner of the studio. He dusted her off and stood her up carefully, settling cross legged on the floor in front of her. “I’ll work with Dolores,” he announced.

Agnes masked her expression of surprise remarkably quickly. She nodded in agreement, and gave Diego a little prod in the back. “Very well. Diego can pair up with Klaus.”

Klaus reclined in his seat, with his hands crossed behind his head, grinning as he watched Diego cross the room.

“Shut up,” Diego said, before the man had chance to say anything. He sunk down on the seat next to him.

“Half an hour posing, half an hour drawing,” Agnes said, floating around the room. “Decide who is going first.”

“Shall I draw you first?” Klaus asked politely, sharpening a pencil. He looked up at Diego from under lowered lashes. “Or would you like to draw me?”

“I can’t draw,” Diego said with a groan.

Klaus smirked. “I know.”

…

Klaus had huge eyes. That was the first thing Diego noticed. They were a striking bright green, and made even bigger by the lashings of eyeliner surrounding them. His pale skin contrasted dramatically with his dark brows and the tousled curls of his hair. The man licked his lips nervously as Diego surveyed him.

“You have to talk to me now,” he said, as Diego picked up his pencil. “And admire my pretty face.”

“I’m pretty sure you have to keep your mouth shut actually.” Diego said, awkwardly marking his first line onto the paper. He frowned at it and picked up the eraser.

“So you admit I have a pretty face?” Klaus continued, muttering from behind gritted teeth. The action gave him a slightly manic look that Diego didn’t think anyone could ever hope to capture on paper.

“You look insane,” he said truthfully.

Klaus fell obediently silent, spending the half hour gazing dreamily into the distance. Diego attempted to replicate the soft curves of his lips on the paper before him, frowning at the lines as he drew them. When his gaze left the man’s mouth, Klaus was watching him intently.

Embarrassed, his gaze dropped to rest on Klaus’s arms, folded neatly across his lap. The man’s left forearm was dotted with scars, the faded evidence of track marks marring his pale skin.

Diego half heartedly continued to scrawl lines on to his paper, not really drawing anything at all, but using the time to examine the man before him in more detail. The man was slender and pale, and when he fell silent he seemed strangely fragile. While he sat, one bare foot tapped compulsively on the ground, as if he couldn’t quite contain his own energy.

When Agnes announced it was time to swap, Diego hurriedly folded his paper, shoving the sketch into his pocket.

“You have to show me!” Klaus protested, reaching out to try and grab it, fingers scrabbling at the material of his jeans.

Diego batted him away. “Your turn.”

  
Diego was uncomfortable from the minute the man picked up his pencil. Klaus’s penetrating gaze seemed to double in intensity when he was drawing. The man’s eyes flicked over Diego’s face as his hand skimmed over the paper before him. His tongue was poking out from between his lips in concentration, and Diego had to mentally scold himself for finding it endearing.

The sun was shining through the windows behind them, falling on Diego’s face, and casting the back of Klaus’s head in a golden glow. The room was utterly silent except for the scratching of pencils on paper. Caught in Klaus’s gaze, the room felt unpleasantly warm to Diego. He undid the top button of his shirt collar, causing the man’s pencil to still on the paper.

“It’s hot,” he said defensively, as Klaus raised an eyebrow at him.

Klaus did not respond, but his hand flew across the paper, eyes flicking repeatedly back up to the triangle of bare skin at Diego’s collar. With five minutes left on the clock, the man looked up and surveyed the room. Everyone was absorbed in their portraits.

He leaned over, bridging the space between them, and undid the next two buttons on Diego’s shirt. He pulled the collar wide open, ignoring Diego’s muttered protests and then settled back in his chair. He finished the drawing with a smug smile on his face, eyes lingering longer on Diego than on the piece of paper in front of him.

“Time’s up,” Agnes called, clapping her hands together.

They two men both jumped in their seats, twisting their heads in unison to look away from each other and towards their teacher. Diego hurriedly re-buttoned his shirt collar.

“Show each other your drawings,” she said pleasantly, heading over to examine Five’s work. The boy had been sketching intensely for the past hour, apparently intent on capturing each individual sequin on Dolores’s top. “And then we’d better pack up, we’ve run over.”

Diego reached over and grabbed Klaus’s sketchbook before the man could close it, turning it around to examine the drawing.

“Not fair” Klaus protested, cheeks flushing.

“Oh.” Diego stared down at the portrait in front of him. He had expected something abstract and twisted, had thought his nose would have been exaggerated, his eyes out of place.

Instead, Klaus had captured him with a raw accuracy that Diego found almost embarrassing. He frowned down at his own eyes, slightly magnified, gazing back at him from the paper.

“That’s very nice, Klaus.” The dreamy, dark-haired girl had paused to look over Diego’s shoulder on her way out of the room. She drifted away, calling back over her shoulder. “You’ve made him look quite handsome.”

Klaus grabbed the sketchbook back out of Diego’s grasp and closed it hurriedly, cheeks still coloured a rosy pink. “You have to show me yours now,” he said.

Diego grinned. “I really don’t.”

…

They spent longer than necessary tidying up. Diego volunteered to gather the chairs, stacking them in a corner, while Klaus circled the room collecting every pencil he could find. Five cast them a suspicious glance as he left, clutching Dolores tightly to his chest.

“What are you doing now?” Klaus asked, when they finally left the room, leaving only Agnes still inside. He ran his bare toes along the grain of the floorboards, not meeting Diego’s eye.

Diego shrugged, burying his hands in his pockets. “Going home,” he said. “Why d’you ask?”

Klaus gestured at the door to the fire escape at the other end of the landing. “I thought maybe we could break onto the roof and share a joint?” he said, as if he were suggesting a walk in the park.

“I’m a cop,” Diego said.

Klaus beamed at him. “Even better.”

The fire escape door concealed a steep set of stairs, which led them up and out through another door. They emerged on to the roof, in a flat concrete space, bordered on either side by the sloping shingles of the roof’s gables. Behind them, the top of a metal ladder was visible, disappearing steeply over the side of the roof. Directly in front of them, the wide glass skylights of the art studio below sloped down to the buildings edge. Diego could see Agnes pottering around below them, tidying the space.

A view of the skyline spread out beyond, cast in a rosy pink by the sinking sun. Low hanging puffs of cloud shrouded the buildings in the distance. He moved closer to the edge, and nearly tripped over a pot plant. The plants lined the edge of the rooftop, all flourishing, the sheen of their bright green leaves catching the light of the falling sun.

“You come here often?” Diego asked wryly, leaning down to examine the well cared for plants.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klaus said. He had scrambled half way up one of the sloping gables, and was now reclining on the shingles, rolling a joint with nimble fingers. He patted the space next to him, looking at Diego expectantly.

“I want you to know,” Diego said, “I think you’re completely crazy.” He took the climb at a running jump, landing neatly at Klaus’s side.

The man looked up at him as he lit the joint, lying back to rest his head on the sun warmed shingles. He watched Diego through thick black lashes. “The feeling is mutual.”

Diego stayed sitting upright at the man’s side, posture stiff. He was already questioning his decision in joining Klaus up here, alone. He didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Pushing the uncomfortable thoughts away, he accepted the joint as Klaus handed it to him, their fingers brushing.

“So, if you’re a cop,” Klaus began, as if it might be in question. “Why are you attending an art therapy class on a weekday afternoon?”

“Mandatory leave of absence,” Diego grunted, drawing the hot smoke into his lungs, and gazing out at the view, away from the other man.

“Oh?” Klaus said softly. “And why is that?”

Diego didn’t think anyone had ever asked that question directly before. He frowned and sucked again on the joint, before handing it back to Klaus. “My partner died,” he said. He sunk back to lie next to the man on the shingles. “She was shot. I didn’t get there in time.”

“Your partner?” Klaus asked, eyes widening slightly.

“My work partner,” Diego said. “Eudora. We were together as well for a while, but not when it happened.”

Klaus bit his lip, forehead creasing. “I’m-"

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Diego said. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want the man’s sympathy. It wouldn’t bring her back.

Klaus passed him the joint instead. His hand fell to rest at Diego’s side, pressing gently against his thigh. They lay in silence, heads thrown back to catch the last rays of the sun, before it slipped below the horizon. When Klaus next spoke, the light was fading and a cool breeze stole the smoke from his lips. The man moved infinitesimally closer.

“I hope you’re using your time off to be as _bad_ as possible?” he asked.

“I just spend an hour in an art therapy class,” Diego said, reluctant laughter escaping. “Does that answer your question?”

Klaus made a small noise of disapproval. “Well if you want any help misbehaving,” he said. “I can, uh, _lend you a hand._ ”

Diego rolled over to face the man, propping himself up on one elbow. “Do you really think this is a good time to be hitting on me?”

“I don’t know,” Klaus mirrored his position, leaving their faces mere centimetres apart. His gaze flicked down to rest on Diego’s lips. “You tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS it a good time?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus leaned in again, breath brushing Diego’s lips, hands clasping his shoulders. “What do you think the fire escape is for?”
> 
> “I thought it was for escaping fires,” Diego said. “Not men who keep trying to kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It _is_ a good time.

Diego had his hand on Klaus’s neck before he had chance to stop himself. He halted there, unsure if he was using it to pull him closer or push him away. He settled for running the pad of his thumb over the soft skin there instead. Then he let go, falling away to lie on his back.

Klaus followed him immediately, leaning down over him until their chests were nearly pressed together. He brushed his lips gently against Diego’s and then hovered there, breathing softly against his mouth for several long seconds before pulling back. Diego lifted a hand to his own mouth, running it over his skin where it was left tingling from the scratch of the man’s stubble. He hadn’t kissed anyone since Eudora and a part of him hated that it felt so good.

Klaus was eyeing him nervously. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Just,” Diego interrupted, before he could begin. “Just don’t say anything.”

Klaus kissed him again instead, and this time Diego lifted his arm to wrap around the man’s back, pulling him in to lie flat on top of him. His hands drifted down to the man’s legs, running over the lacing of his leather pants and slipping beneath the threads to caress bare skin. Klaus made a needy noise against his lips, and Diego took the opportunity to press his tongue into the man’s mouth. Klaus tasted of weed and something synthetic and fruity that Diego thought might be lipgloss.

They were cast into sudden darkness when the light streaming out of the art studio windows went out. There followed the slamming sound of a door closing somewhere below them.

Diego paused, shaken back to reality. He pushed the man carefully off him, sitting up. “They’re closing up. Are we gonna get locked out up here?”

Klaus leaned in again, breath brushing Diego’s lips, hands clasping his shoulders. “What do you think the fire escape is for?”

“I thought it was for escaping fires,” Diego said. “Not men who keep trying to kiss me.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow at him, letting go of his shoulders. He turned away and stared out at the buildings on the horizon. “You kissed me back.”

“Yeah,” Diego said, standing up and striding over to the edge of the roof. He peered down at the metal ladder, leading to the wrought iron balcony of the fire escape below. “I guess I did.”

He gripped the sides of the ladder and swung his foot over the edge of the building. Klaus remained still on the roof, behind him, watching him go.

“You coming?” Diego asked, beginning the descent.

“Apparently not,” Klaus said. He pulled his pack of cigarette papers from his pocket and set to work rolling another joint. “See you next week.”

Diego hesitated and then nodded, continuing his descent down the metal steps. He kept glancing up to see if Klaus would follow him, but the man had still not appeared when he reached the street. He jumped the last few feet to the ground and hesitated for a second at the foot of the ladder, before striding off alone into the evening.

…

Diego slept badly that night. Kissing someone else didn’t feel like a good way to honour Eudora’s memory. He tossed over in bed, throwing the tangled sheets down to cover only his ankles. It wasn’t an especially warm night, but the enclosed space of his apartment felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure if the fact he’d been kissing another man, rather than a woman, made things better or worse.

There was something soft, sweet and decidedly feminine about Klaus. He wore lipgloss, smelled of perfume and had soft hands with long delicate fingers. But he was definitely still a man. A man who Diego had kissed. And enjoyed kissing. A lot. He thumped his hand into his pillow in frustration.

Now that it had happened, he couldn’t pretend he was surprised by it. Klaus was crazy, but that made him a comforting place to get lost. It had felt safe, rather than strange, when their bodies were pressed together.

On Saturday morning, he was due to meet Allison at Griddy’s, a doughnut shop they’d been visiting together since childhood. The walk there took him past a newsstand on the street. Her face stared down at him from the cover of one of the shiny gossip magazines. He picked it up and tossed the vendor two dollars, spending the rest of his walk with his nose buried in its pages. When he arrived at Griddy’s he pushed the magazine over the sticky plastic table towards her.

“Says here you’re turning down roles,” he said, pointing a finger at the article which accompanied paparazzi shots of Allison outside her apartment, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and sticking her middle finger up at the camera.

“I’m an actress, Diego,” Allison said, pushing the magazine away in disgust. “Of course I’m turning down roles.”

“Not that one,” Diego protested, pulling the magazine back towards him. He scanned the text again. “You would have been perfect for that.”

“I didn’t want it,” Allison shrugged. She pushed a raspberry jelly filled doughnut over the table towards him. His favourite.

“You don’t need to stay here, y’know,” Diego said. It was dawning on him that Allison hadn’t left the city since Eudora’s death. He was accustomed to his sister spending half her time on planes, filming on one side of the country one day, and the opposite side the next. “I’m not going to spontaneously combust if you take your eye off me.”

“Who says I’m staying for you?” Allison asked. “Maybe I’m staying for Luther.”

“Well if that’s the case,” Diego tore his doughnut in two, raspberry jelly oozing from its centre and out over his fingers. “I _might_ spontaneously combust.”

Allison frowned at him. “He liked you, Diego. Please try to return the favour. ”

“No can do,” Diego lazily licked the jelly from his fingers. It was comforting, sitting there in the coffee shop, listening to the whirr of grinding beans and the soft hum of chatter. “I’m your big brother. It’s my job to hate him.”

“Maybe you should focus on your own love life,” Allison suggested, though her lips were twitching into a reluctant smile.

“No thanks,” Diego said. He remembered Klaus’s narrowed eyes as he’d made his escape from the roof. It must have looked like he’d been running away. If he was honest with himself he knew that, really, he’d been doing exactly that. “I’ve fucked that up.”

She looked deeply unsurprised. “What did you do?”

“I kissed someone,” Diego muttered. He glowered down into the inky depths of his espresso, remembering the way heat had flooded through his body when Klaus had pressed their lips together.

Allison’s eyes lit up, her hand stilling on the spoon she was using to stir her cappuccino. “That’s not fucking up, Diego. That’s great.”

She paused, watching him.

“Or did she not kiss you back?”

  
Diego snorted at the question, sinking back into his seat. He gestured down at his body and slapped a hand against his abs, newly restored from his workouts at the gym. “Look at me. Who wouldn’t kiss me back?”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Anyone who heard you say that for a start.”

…

“You kissed someone,” The Therapist repeated, looking astonished at his outburst.

They had sat in silence for half an hour before he spoke. He cursed himself for speaking, disgusted that those were the three words that first came to mind. He cast around for something else to say, _anything_ that might distract the woman from his admission. Nothing came to mind.

“Would you like to unpick what that means to you?” The Therapist asked carefully.

Diego grimaced, aware that his ears were turning red. “Not really.”

“Well,” The Therapist said. “ _I_ think it’s a healthy progression. There’s nothing wrong with moving on, Diego.”

Diego said nothing. He wasn’t convinced a shoeless junkie with wacky fashion sense was the right person to move on with. He felt drawn to Klaus, as if an unseen force was tugging him inextricably towards him. The man made him hot and flustered in a way no woman ever had. But he figured that was probably just another good reason to keep his distance.

“In fact,” the Therapist continued, undeterred by his silence. “If I may be frank, I’d encourage it. It’s not healthy to get stuck in the past. This man may be exactly what you need.”

Diego gaped at her. “What makes you think it’s a man?”

“Your use of gender neutral language for a start,” The Therapist said. “Am I mistaken?”

“No,” Diego scowled at her, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “No, you’re not mistaken.”

The Therapist hummed thoughtfully and then got up, beginning to rummage through the drawers of her desk. “I think I have some leaflets that may be helpful to you.”

Diego left the office feeling slightly dazed with a collection of brightly coloured pamphlets on _Understanding Sexuality_ and a large handful of toffees, which had been pressed forcefully into his grasp. He stopped abruptly in the doorway at the sight of the teenager from art therapy sat on the waiting room couch before him. The boy was in his school uniform with his nose buried in a book the size of a brick. As Diego emerged he looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“You too, huh?” Five said. “Successful session?”

“You have _successful_ ones?” Diego said, skirting around the edge of the room towards the door. He made an effort to hide the leaflets behind his back, keen to keep them out of view. As he passed, Five reached out and snagged one from his grasp, lifting it up to examine it with a bored expression.

“Fuck’s sake,” Diego grumbled, grabbing it back and crumpling it into a ball.

Five eyed him dubiously, eyebrows knitted. “If that’s relating to Klaus, then I don’t think you need to worry. You’re punching well above your weight there.”

“It’s not about Klaus,” Diego said, shoving the crumpled pamphlets into his back pocket. “And, if anything, I’m out of _his_ league.”

Five got to his feet. He straightened his tie and regarded Diego with an air of deep amusement. “You have no idea, do you?”

He didn’t wait around for an answer, striding across the waiting room and pushing open The Therapist’s door without waiting to be called. Diego watched him go with a frown, wondering how conversations with the boy always left him feeling like he was on the back foot.

He disposed of the pamphlets in the nearest trashcan and spent the walk back to his apartment working his way through the toffees, deep in thought. Two things had become blindingly clear to him. Firstly, that kissing Klaus was a bad idea. Secondly, that he was _definitely_ going to do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’ll leave a stack of Understanding Sexuality leaflets by the door for anyone else Klaus has confused.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Klaus murmured. “If you think I’m still trying to seduce you… you’re absolutely right.”

That Friday, the first real day of summer, was hot and bright. Diego was running late for the art class. He had spent the afternoon pacing up and down his front room, debating whether or not to attend. He arrived panting in the door of the studio, sweating slightly, the material of his tshirt clinging to his chest.

The class was already gathered in a circle in the centre of the room, watching attentively as Agnes kneaded at a block of clay. Diego’s eyes were on Klaus as he entered the room. The man had his back to him, but Diego could tell by the stiffening of his shoulders that he was aware of his approach. He was sat in between the dark-haired girl and Five, leaving only one spare seat on Five’s other side. Diego tapped the boy on the shoulder, and pointed him into the empty seat.

The boy gave a long-suffering sigh, and moved over, allowing Diego to slip onto the seat beside Klaus. Klaus didn’t turn to look at him as he sat down, but bit his lip, obviously suppressing a smile.

“Hey,” Diego said softly.

Five made a disgusted noise from his other side.

The noise seemed, to Diego, to come from a great distance. The room, and the people within it, had faded into the background when he caught sight of Klaus’s outfit. Or lack thereof. Diego didn’t bother pretending not to look this time. He wasn’t fooling either of them.

The room was admittedly warm, but Klaus appeared to have dressed for the tropics in a tiny pair of denim hotpants and a cropped tie-dye tshirt. Diego’s eyes dragged over the man’s slim waist to land on his angular hipbones, dipping invitingly beneath the tight waistband of his tiny shorts. His long legs stretched out endlessly before him.

Diego leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear, tapping a finger lightly against his bare thigh as he spoke. “I hate to tell you this, but I think you forgot half of your clothes.”

Klaus turned his head and regarded him sassily. He reached a hand up to cup Diego’s ear as he spoke directly into it. Diego’s eyes flickered closed and he leaned in to the sensation of the man’s breath against his skin.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Klaus murmured. “If you think I’m still trying to seduce you… you’re absolutely right.”

Their exchange was interrupted by Agnes pointedly clearing her throat, and they looked up to see the entire class was watching them. Diego’s hand was still on Klaus’s thigh. He removed it awkwardly.

“Klaus,” Agnes said, tittering nervously. “I was just saying we’ll be in pairs again today. I’m sure Five would be pleased if you worked with him this week?”

  
Five made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, I’d rather work with Diego,” Klaus said brightly. “I find him _very_ inspiring.”

“Well,” Agnes said, eyeing Diego doubtfully. “If you’re sure that’s a good idea. Grab a blindfold and let’s get started.”

Diego did a double take at the sight of a pile of black satin blindfolds on the woman’s desk. He grabbed hold of Klaus’s wrist as the man stood up to collect one, pulling him back. “What the fuck do we need a blindfold for?”

…

“It’s a teambuilding exercise,” Agnes told the group, proudly, once they’d partnered up around lumps of clay, awkwardly clutching their blindfolds. “I’ve been learning all about it on The Youtube. You’ll create a sculpture together in your pairs. But...” she paused dramatically, “One of you must wear the blindfold, and only the blindfolded person is allowed to touch the clay.”

“Statistically speaking,” Klaus said, draping the blindfold over Diego’s eyes. “There’s a 99.9% chance that this has been used for something kinky.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Diego complained, grimacing. “Don’t say that. It’s on my face.”

Klaus was stood behind his chair, neatly fastening the blindfold and unnecessarily carding his fingers through Diego’s hair. Diego lifted a hand to bat the man’s hands away from his head. He couldn’t see Klaus, but the man was radiating an aura of deep amusement.

“Here you go,” Klaus announced, lifting Diego’s hands to rest on the block of clay on the table before them. He patted him on both shoulders and left his hands resting there. “Sculpt away.”

Diego prodded his fingers reluctantly forwards into the cold, damp material. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Klaus tutted at him. “Well then you should have been paying attention,” he lowered his voice, and leaned in until Diego could feel his breath against the side of his face. “Rather than whispering in my ear.”

The clay was tough and unyielding beneath his hands. He dug his thumbs in, hard, and then ran them back along the surface. It had barely made an indentation.

“You have to warm it up first,” Klaus told him, in a low voice.

Diego shivered as the man’s fingers travelled the length of his arms, coming to rest directly over his own. The man’s hands fastened around his, massaging them as he pushed them into the clay. Diego’s jeans were suddenly far too tight. He shuffled forwards on his chair in an effort to conceal his lower half under the table. Unfortunately that tactic wasn’t going to work on Klaus, whose chin was now resting on his shoulder. He made a soft tutting noise into Diego’s ear, lips brushing the lobe.

“For someone who doesn’t like sculpting, you really seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Klaus,” Diego said in strangled tone. He lowered his voice, uncertain as to whether anyone else was paying them any attention, or whether Agnes was close enough to hear them. “I’m really gonna need you to stop.”

Kaus appeared to take his request as a challenge to keep going, his behaviour becoming gradually worse over the course of the session. By the time Diego removed his blindfold Klaus was half in his lap, hands twisted interchangeably with Diego’s own. The lump of clay on the table in front of them still looked very much like just a lump of clay, although considerably more untidy.

“Boys,” Agnes said reproachfully, examining the lump. She shot Klaus a disappointed look. “I don’t think you gave that your full attention.”

Klaus didn’t seem to register the woman’s words. He was staring at Diego, lips parted and cheeks flushed. The man’s fingers were covered in a thick coating of clay, which he had somehow managed to swipe up the length of Diego’s arms, the cloying material now setting uncomfortably to his skin. Diego picked at it, purposefully not meeting the man’s eye. They remained sat down as the others tidied up around them, neither in any fit state to be standing up.

“ _Boys_.” Agnes said, exasperated at the sight of them still sat there. “Why haven’t you tidied?”

She looked up at the rest of the group, now filing from the room and checked her watch, frowning. She rummaged in her pockets and hesitated, glancing between the two of them before handing Klaus a key. He accepted it, still looking slightly dazed.

“Lock up would you, sweetie? I’m picking my husband up from physio and I’m running late. Leave the key in mailbox ten.”

Klaus seemed to shake himself, recovering for long enough to nod and smile. He waited until the woman was out of the room, and then launched himself into Diego’s lap, crushing their lips together as he tangled his hands in Diego’s hair. The key clattered, forgotten, to the ground and skidded away across the floorboards.

Diego grabbed the man by the back of the thighs and pulled him closer, kneading his fingers into the hot, naked flesh. He ran his hands up to push his fingers beneath the frayed hemline of the man’s shorts and Klaus made a tortured noise against his mouth. Diego ran his fingers along the creases at the top of the man’s thighs, and then shoved his hands further up, pulling the denim taut as he grabbed handfuls of the man’s ass.

Klaus whimpered against his lips, and began tugging at the button fastening his hotpants, the fabric obviously pulled painfully tight across his straining cock.

“Wait,” Diego’s eyes flickered down to the distended fabric at the man’s crotch. He pulled his hands free and pushed the man off him, standing up shakily. He took a step backwards. “What are we doing?”

Klaus regarded him, breathing heavily, his hair and clothes dishevelled. “Well we’re still in the studio. So, technically, it’s still therapy.”

“N-no,” Diego held him at arms length as Klaus attempted to lunge forwards at him. “I don’t think it is.”

“Sex can be very healing,” Klaus told him, eyes wide. He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “What if it’s the key to our recovery?”

“Yeah,” Diego thought that was unlikely but…hey… _possible_. Klaus’s fingers were running down his chest, then tugging at the hem of his tshirt, pulling it up and over his head. He struggled out of it. “Yeah… we should probably find out.”

Klaus backed him up against the studio wall in a surprising show of strength that left Diego slightly winded. The man seemed incapable of deciding where he wanted his hands. He ran them up Diego’s arms, pausing to squeeze at his biceps, dug his nails in to the flesh of his shoulders then dragged his fingers down through the smattering of hair on his chest.

When his fingers reached Diego’s nipple ring, the man paused, circling the metal hoop with his thumb. He looked up at Diego, pupils blown. “Well that’s just cheating.”

The man dipped his head and circled the ring with his tongue, causing Diego to groan and fist his hand in the man’s hair. He held him there for as long as he could bear, and then tugged him away, hands scrabbling to pull the man’s tie-dye tshirt over his head.

“That,” he huffed, as Klaus wriggled free of the material. “Is the most stupidly tiny excuse for a shirt I have ever seen.”

Klaus smirked at him. “I’ve really got to introduce you to the rest of my wardrobe.”

Diego didn’t respond, caught up in the sensation of having another man’s bare chest pressed against his own. Klaus was lithe and supple, his thinness only serving to emphasise the hard planes of muscle beneath his skin. He was angular and sharp, from the cut of his jawline to the symmetrical slants of his hipbones. Nothing about him was soft. Diego found it intoxicating.

He reversed their positions, slamming Klaus into the wall a little more roughly than he’d intended. He hesitated, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but the sight of Klaus throwing his head back and emitting a guttural groan told him it wasn’t necessary. He ground his hips forwards instead, grinding his erection against Klaus’s slender, white thigh as he caught the man’s lips in a biting kiss.

Klaus’s fingers were grappling with the fastening of his hotpants again, the backs of his knuckles rubbing against Diego’s stomach as he struggled to free himself from the tight material. The man finally let out a groan of relief and Diego heard the sound of a zipper being dragged down. He mouthed at Klaus’s neck, closing his eyes as he breathed in the deep, sweet, familiar smell of perfume lingering on the skin. Reaching down between them, he dragged Klaus’s hand out of his open shorts and pressed it insistently against the bulging material at the crotch of his own jeans.

“Oh?” Klaus murmured, his voice deep and rich in his ear. His fingers tugged nimbly on Diego’s zip. “You want a hand with that?”

“Please,” Diego growled, his tone rough and desperate. His hands were back in the man’s hair, tugging on the curls between his fingers, as their mouths clashed once more.

His jeans and underwear were shoved unceremoniously down, to rest halfway down his thighs, his cock springing free. Klaus made a murmuring noise of approval, and then closed his hand around it in a tight fist.

“Fuck.” Diego bucked forwards into the man’s grasp. He dropped his hands to Klaus’s waist, and pushed the man’s shorts down, looking down to see the other man’s cock pressing proud and red against Diego’s own thigh.

He hesitated and Klaus took pity on him, grasping both their lengths in his fist and pumping them together, fingers stretched wide around their combined width.

Diego buried his face in the man’s neck, concentrating desperately on not coming immediately into the tight heat. Klaus’s cock was leaking copiously, making the man’s grasp slick and wet.

“Diego,” the man moaned, his hand slowing down. He tipped his head forward on to Diego’s shoulder and bit down, slightly too hard, as he came.

  
Diego had time to look down between them, see Klaus’s release coating his stomach, and then the man was on his knees. His hand fastened around Diego’s cock once more and he leaned in, opening his mouth and rubbing the head along the length of his tongue, watching Diego wide eyed all the time.

Diego cursed softly and braced himself politely against the wall, fists clenched, until Klaus reached up and tugged a hand down to rest on the back of his head. Diego caved. He bucked his hips forward, fucking the man’s face, hand tugging on his curls and eyes fixed on his mouth, stretched open on his dick. He groaned and pushed the man off, slightly too late, coming in a thick stripe across the side of his face.

“Presumptuous,” Klaus huffed out, laughing, as he reached up to wipe himself clean.

“Sorry,” Diego, turned his back to the wall and slumped down to sit, spent, at the man’s side. “But it’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be so good at that.”

...

Klaus leaned over, lifting a hand to Diego’s jaw and pulling him in to kiss him comfortably, almost matter of factly, on the lips. The soft, quick peck reminded Diego vividly of Eudora. Their easy, shared intimacy. His throat felt suddenly tight, his chest burning. He pushed himself to his feet, tugging his jeans back up.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus said, voice teasing as he fixed his own clothes. He had clay in his hair, where Diego’s hands had been tugging, causing it to stick up in wild tufts. “Is kissing too intimate for you now?”

Diego shook his head, reaching a hand out and pulling the man to his feet. He turned his back in order to continue fastening his jeans, fingers fumbling on the button.

“Not sure I’d call that intimate,” he said, nodding his head at the wall they’d been rutting against. He reached down to grab his tshirt from the floor.

Klaus narrowed his eyes. “Oh, no, not at all. That was all extremely heterosexual.”

Diego scowled at him. “Not the issue.”

“I see,” Klaus said. “So the problem isn’t that I’m not a woman. Just that I’m not _her_ specifically?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Diego said, the man’s every word grating on his nerves. “You think this has been easy? We’re not all just here because we like dabbling with paint and heroin.”

“I’m clean,” Klaus said coldly. He pulled his tshirt back over his head and folded his arms over his chest, not quite hiding the track marks that marred the pale skin. “And lucky fucking you, if you think _that’s_ easy.”

“Well I’m done with being your substitute fix,” Diego said.

Klaus laughed hollowly, already walking towards the door. “Sweetheart. Don’t flatter yourself. You don’t feel _half_ as good as heroin.”

He hesitated as he reached the door, his bare foot landing on the key they had dropped earlier.

“You’re just gonna walk away from this?” Diego asked incredulously.

Klaus paused in the doorway, and for a moment Diego’s heart lifted. He took a step towards him, reaching out, ready to pull him back into the room.

“Hurts like a bitch doesn’t it?” Klaus said, voice thick. With a flick of his toes he sent the key skittering over the floorboards towards Diego, not turning to face him. “Lock up on your way out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to hit you with the angst on a Monday! They're gonna have to work a little harder for a happy ending.


	7. Chapter 7

Diego spent the weekend alone, alternating between sets of crunches on the floor and lying on the couch staring blandly at the ceiling. He tried not to think about Klaus, but every time he closed his eyes, he pictured the man hovering nervously above him, lips parted after their first kiss.

Or, worse still, kneeling on the floor in front of him, bare-chested, with come streaked across his flushed cheek. Flyers for art shows were continuing to pile up in his mailbox, and he continued to scrunch them up, tossing them into the trash without a glance.

The Therapist actually smiled at him when she opened the office door to him on Monday morning. “Our penultimate session,” she said, chirpily, as he settled on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Yeah,” Diego said, flatly. “Great.”

The woman simply sat and watched him, tapping her pen against her open notebook.

“Listen,” Diego said, eyeing the notebook warily. Despite his lack of communication over the past few weeks, the page was full of tiny, cramped writing. “I need you to tell me I can go back to work. Sitting at home all day… it’s killing me.”

The Therapist sighed. “Has it occurred to you that you may need to seek enrichment in other areas of your life?” She paused meaningfully. “Has there been any progression in your new relationship?”

Diego crossed his legs, frowning. “I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

“No progression,” The Therapist murmured to herself, scribbling in her notebook.

Diego met her eye, an unaccountable fury building in his chest. In that moment he hated her, every inch of her, from the platinum curls of her hair to the shiny red toes of her shoes. “There was progression,” he snapped.

“Oh?” The Therapist raised an eyebrow, and waited, pen poised for him to continue.

“We had sex,” Diego said. “Kind of. _Don’t_ write that down.”

“Does it make you feel uncomfortable?” The Therapist asked him. She closed the notebook and set it carefully on the coffee table between them, tucking the pen behind her ear.

“I think it's you that’s the problem,” Diego told her. “Not the notebook.”

The Therapist smiled sweetly, refusing to be deterred. “I meant does sex make you uncomfortable, not the note taking. I take it your- ah- _encounter_ did not end well?”

Diego scowled in response.

“It’s common to find it difficult to connect in romantic situations,” The Therapist told him, steepling her fingers together and watching him intently. “Especially after losing a loved one. It can be easier to push people away when they get too close.”

“Hang on,” Diego said, indignant, sitting up straight. “What makes you think it was _my_ fault?”

The Therapist merely raised an eyebrow at him. “Was it not your fault?”

He hesitated, opened and closed his mouth, then sank back to slump against the couch cushions.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess it was my fault.”

…

The rest of the week dragged by. On Wednesday night he took The Therapist’s advice and got out of the house, attending a boxing lesson at the building that housed the art studio. He headed upstairs after it was done, still dripping sweat and feeling better than he had all week .The tenth floor was deserted, the door to the art studio firmly locked. He glanced cautiously down the stairwell before crossing the landing and ducking through the fire exit leading to the roof.

Klaus’s pot plants were wilting in the summer heat. The man himself was not there, but there was a small pile of cigarette butts resting on the sun-warmed tiles of the gables. Diego waited for an hour and watered the plants before he left, taking the fire escape and landing on the ground to a puzzled look from a passing pedestrian.

When he arrived home, the phone was ringing. He kicked off his shoes and collected a bottle of beer from the fridge before answering. It was Allison’s voice on the other end. She didn’t bother saying hello.

“Care to explain why your picture is in the paper?”

Diego spluttered on his mouthful of beer. “The newspaper?” he asked.

“Yes, Diego,” Allison sighed, her frustration evident even over the phone. “I’ve just seen it. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Diego said, baffled. “It’s not me.”

“I can recognise my own brother’s face,” Allison huffed. “Do you not _know_?”

Diego sank down onto the couch, kneading the fingers of one hand into his temples and wondering what he could possibly have done to be featured in the newspaper. “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Christ,” Allison said. There was a long pause, and the sound of pages rustling. “Wait there. I’m coming over.”

Diego spent the half hour waiting for her working his way through his bottle of beer, and staring unseeingly at the television. Eudora’s death had been met with a small column dedicated to her in the paper. He supposed some reporter had decided to dig deeper, reporting details of their private life to compensate for a slow news day. He glowered at the TV, swallowing the last mouthful of his beer and getting up immediately for another one.

Allison marched through the front door without knocking, long blonde hair flying out behind her. She shot Diego a victorious look before slamming the Arts & Culture pages down on the kitchen table. She jabbed a finger at a painting on the front. Diego’s stomach flipped over at the sight of it. He set his beer down and leaned in, frowning, to get a better look.

“There.” Allison said. “That’s you. A better looking version. But definitely you.”

She looked back down at the painting. Diego followed her gaze, reluctantly eyeing the painted image of himself. There was a raw emotion in the eyes of the man in the portrait that he had never once seen while looking in the mirror. The painted Diego’s lips were slightly parted and his gaze intense but soft at the same time. His shirt collar was open, the shadows of his collarbones emphasised. He grabbed the paper and turned it over, pressing the image of his own face forcibly down into the kitchen table.

“And that’s _Klaus Hargreeves_ ,” Allison continued, turning the paper back over and pointing at a tiny thumbnail photo of Klaus at the top right of the page. “I met him at the Met Gala three months ago. He was wearing Gucci. _He’s_ a famous artist and _he’s_ painted _you_ and _I_ want to know what is going on.” She paused for breath and shot Diego a dark look. “ _Now_.”

Diego turned the paper face down again, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again in silence. _Klaus_. Barefoot, underdressed, weed smoking, ex-addict _Klaus_ was a famous artist. He rolled his eyes. It made perfect sense.

“Are you… sleeping with him?” Allison asked, finally tearing her eyes away. She looked Diego up and down as if properly seeing him for the first time.

“No,” Diego snapped.

“’Cause you know,” Allison forged on. “Nobody would mind, if you were g-“

“I’m not.”

“And Eudora would want-“

“DON’T,” Diego shouted, lifting his fist to slam it back down on the table.

Allison caught it before he could make impact, fixing him with a stern glare. “Eudora would want you to be happy, Diego.”

“I’m not sleeping with him,” Diego repeated, feeling suddenly drained. He sank down on to one of the kitchen chairs. “I fucked up, he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.”

“Yeah,” Allison said, voice shaking slightly with repressed laughter. “You know someone’s hates you when they paint a loving reproduction of your face and use it to promote the opening night of their solo art exhibition.”

“I… w-wha- this is going to be in a _show?”_ Diego asked, grabbing the paper, eyes scanning the text that accompanied the painting.

Allison rolled her eyes. “That’s what artists do, Diego.”

Diego frowned, settling in to read the article properly. The show’s opening night was that Friday, an exclusive event at a gallery he’d never heard of. He frowned at the reporter’s description of Klaus as a ‘gorgeous young artist with addictive appeal’.

“He’s not that young,” he grumbled, pushing the paper away as he finished reading.

“But he does have addictive appeal?” Allison asked, as she read over his shoulder, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh fuck,” Diego said, dropping his head to rest in his hands. “Yeah, he’s got that.”

They settled in for an evening on the sofa, ordering pizza and cracking open more bottles of beer. Allison spent the first hour texting furiously, and Diego was unsurprised when Luther arrived with a bemused expression. The man reached out to examine the newspaper, only to have Diego whip it back out of his hands.

“That’s private,” Diego snapped, reluctantly handing the man a beer and pointing him to a threadbare armchair in the corner.

“Diego,” Allison protested. She handed Luther the paper. “It’s literally _in the news.”_

“He’s made you better looking,” Luther pointed out, straightening the page and scanning the article with a carefully neutral expression on his face.

“Are we going to the show?”

“Are we fuck,” Diego snorted, folding his arms.

“ _You_ are,” Allison said fiercely, rounding on him.

“Yeah,” Diego agreed. “I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than planned, but here it is!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the twist. Did it surprise you?


	8. Chapter 8

Finding tickets to the _most anticipated show in the art world’s diary_ (as the newspaper article had described it) turned out to be an impossible task. Even Allison couldn’t pull enough strings to get him through the door.

Under usual circumstances, romantic involvement with the artist would probably merit an invite, Diego thought. But of course, Klaus wasn’t currently talking to him. Possibly wouldn’t talk to him ever again. He began to wonder if the man would even want him there, and he spent the days leading up to the show agonising over whether or not to attend.

He skipped art therapy on Friday afternoon, half because he was assuming Klaus wouldn’t be there, and half because he was stood, half naked, in front of his closet, agonising over what to wear. He tried on three different suits before settling on an outfit: jeans and a tshirt with a leather jacket over the top. It was a classic combination, he reasoned, staring dubiously into the mirror as he tried to scruff his hair into a style that said _artistic._ He gave up when it became clear it didn’t want to say anything other than _messy._

He left the apartment at eight o clock with slightly sweaty palms and no ticket, but a plan to lurk unseen near the venue until he caught sight of Klaus. If his years of experience in the police force had taught him anything, it was how to _lurk_ in style.

The venue of Klaus’s art show was an odd blend of bohemian and upmarket, enclosed in a dirty, red brick building with wide windows. It combined impressive paintings with neon signs, hanging plants and a sign advertising free coffee.

Diego guessed free coffee wasn’t on offer this particular night though. A burly looking man in a suit was stood outside the door, checking tickets from a steady stream of well dressed guests. He supposed Klaus was already inside, and took a seat in the diner opposite, keeping an eye on the gallery door through the glass windows. He ordered waffles and a double-shot espresso and settled in for a long wait.

He rolled his eyes at the sight of Five approaching the gallery, smartly dressed in a three piece suit and bow tie, and producing a ticket with a flourish. The kid was unaccompanied and Diego caught sight of him helping himself to a glass of champagne as he disappeared through the door.

Agnes arrived shortly afterwards, wearing a puffy pink tulle dress and largely resembling a meringue. She was clutching the arm of a tall chubby man with a beard, who Diego supposed was her husband. He stabbed his fork into his plate of waffles, beginning to feel really stupid. Had _everyone_ apart from him known that Klaus was a world-renowned artist? He supposed if he’d spent a little more time actually talking to Klaus, and a little less ogling his long legs, he might have found out before now.

Hours passed and Diego began to wish he had brought a book to pass the time. His eyes were beginning to sting from staring across the street, and the waitress had started giving him funny looks a good forty minutes ago. He hadn’t expected it to take so long for a small group of people to look at a small group of pictures. He supposed they had become distracted and ended up looking at Klaus instead.

At eleven thirty, guests were finally beginning to trickle out of the doors. Still hidden in the diner, Diego pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and left it on the table. It was a warm night, but he drew his jacket tightly around himself as he stepped outside, moving into the shadows to recline against the wall and wait.

It was past midnight when Klaus appeared outside the venue doors. He was wearing a close fitting, red velvet suit which emphasised the length of his legs and the slimness of his waist. The low cut of the jacket revealed a crisp black shirt and a black lacy cravat. The man was, for once, wearing shoes. Black boots which, Diego was fairly certain, had a heel. The light spilling out of the door behind him gave him an ethereal glow. He looked sophisticated, elegant, _expensive_.

Diego lingered in the shadows, painfully aware of his own badly fitting jeans and scruffy leather jacket. He watched from across the street as Klaus paused to light a cigarette, the flame lighting his face and revealing dark kohl-rimmed eyes. Inhaling enthusiastically, the man looked up, and stilled, catching Diego’s eye. He lowered the cigarette slowly and breathed out a slow cloud of smoke, their gazes locked.

Klaus glanced behind him at the brightly lit windows of the gallery and, for a second, Diego thought he was going to duck back inside. Then the man stepped out towards him, crossing the road in long legged strides.

He was definitely wearing heels, Diego registered, as the man came to a halt in front of him. Klaus was now a good three inches taller than him, leaving Diego’s eyes level with his lips. His hair was tidier than usual but still artfully curled, and the lace cravat drew attention to the pale column on his throat. Diego wanted to lean in and bite it.

“Nice outfit,” he said, unable to stop his eyes roaming as he spoke.

Klaus merely raised an eyebrow at him, unspeaking. Flattery was clearly not going to cut it.

“I saw the advert in the paper,” Diego said, gesturing vaguely at the gallery behind them, eyes not moving from Klaus’s face.

The man turned pink, flushing enough that Diego could _tell_ despite the gloom of the night.

“It’s a good painting,” he said. “I wasn’t going to leave it out, just because you turned out to be an asshole.”

  
Diego winced. “You think that?”

“That it’s a good painting?” Klaus asked, smirking around his cigarette. “I hate to blow my own trumpet. But um, yeah, I did good.”

“You are good,” Diego said immediately.

They stood in silence for a moment, eyeing each other warily. Klaus was close enough that Diego could smell his cologne, something sweet and spicy, feminine and masculine at the same time. He wet his lips, eyes dropping to Klaus’s neck again.

“Do you really like my outfit?” Klaus asked, after a full minute of silence had passed. He played with the lace cravat, tugging it a little looser to reveal the sharp edge of his collarbones.

“Yeah,” Diego breathed, reaching a hand out daringly to run up the man’s arm. His hand dragged against the grain of the velvet, rough and soft at the same time against his skin. “I really like it.”

Klaus tensed at the contact, but didn’t move away. He dropped his cigarette and ground it absentmindedly into the ground with the toe of his boot.

Diego hand continued its journey up the man’s arm, coming to rest on his shoulder, before drifting over to his shirt collar. He fingered the lace of the cravat, and then tugged gently, loosening the knot between his fingers.

“You’re going to spoil it,” Klaus said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Do you ruin everything you like?”

Diego dropped his hand immediately. “I guess I have a talent for fucking things up.”

Klaus leaned in and spoke directly into his ear, breath brushing tantalisingly against his skin. _“So fuck me up.”_

Diego barely had time to turn his head, before the man’s mouth was on him, crushing clumsily against his jaw and then catching his lips. He tasted of champagne. Diego groaned in relief and reached up to tangle his fingers in the man’s hair, swiftly returning it to its usual tousled mess. The man murmured a vague protest against his lips, pulling Diego’s hands away, even as he deepened the kiss.

Diego ran his hands down the man’s back instead and rested them on his ass, petting the velvet beneath his fingers. Klaus’s own hands were busily making their way under his jacket, and he groaned as the cold skin made contact with his abdomen, eager fingers tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the skin. He caught Klaus’s lower lip between his teeth and moved in closer, pressing him against the wall.

“Mm- no,” Klaus panted, turning his head.

Diego took the opportunity to begin mouthing at the skin of his throat.

“ _No_ ,” the man repeated, breathlessly. “I know what happens when you get me up against a wall.”

“And you’re still saying no?” Diego asked, unable to keep himself from smiling against the skin beneath his mouth. He drew back reluctantly, but found himself caught as Klaus’s hands dropped to tangle in his belt loops, holding him in place.

“I’m, uh, getting mixed messages,” Diego said, eyeing the man’s hands on his belt.

Klaus let go, his hands drifting to rest in a more respectable position on Diego’s waist, over the fabric of his shirt. He kept his head turned away, still breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Diego said, watching the man closely. “About last time.”

Klaus met his eye again, then smiled, a proper Cheshire-cat grin that made Diego want to haul him back in for another kiss.

“Will you come in?” he asked, gesturing at the gallery across the street.

“Do you want me to?”

Klaus rolled his eyes, as if Diego had asked him something very stupid. “Frankly, you’d be doing me a favour. Everyone has seen your portrait. I’m pretty sure they all think I have an unrequited crush.”

...

The crowd had thinned out within the gallery walls. Agnes was hiccupping over a glass of champagne in the corner. She lit up at the sight of them entering together, beaming as her eyes filled with tears. Diego turned hurriedly away from the woman and walked straight into Five. The boy was also clutching a glass of champagne which, apparently, no one had seen fit to take off him. He sighed heavily at the sight of Klaus clutching on to Diego’s arm.

“Well, Klaus,” he said sombrely, “I must say… I thought you had better taste.”

“Fuck off, Five,” Diego said cheerfully.

Klaus gasped, and thumped a fist into Diego’s chest. Five, bizarrely, looked delighted.

“ _Diego,”_ Klaus protested. He shot an apologetic look at Five. “You can’t tell a _child_ to fuck off.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Diego snorted. “He’s the least childish person I’ve ever met.”

Klaus dragged him away from Five, who was still visibly glowing from Diego’s words, and began to lead him around the room. The paintings that lined the walls were a riot of colour. Mostly abstract, they almost appeared to jump from the canvases in their exuberance.

Klaus showed him around with an air of awkward, self-consciousness, which Diego had never seen him show before. The man’s cheeks turned slightly pink as Diego paused to examine each of the paintings in turn. At one end of the room was a selection of softer, more realistic paintings: plants on a rooftop, smoke swirling into clouds, a sunset bleeding into the city skyline. Diego’s portrait was in the centre. They didn’t stop in front of it, skipping past it by silent, mutual agreement.

There were a number of alarmingly good-looking men still lingering around, and most of them were now eyeing Diego jealously. He was quite enjoying it. He slipped an arm around Klaus’s shoulders and the man beamed at him in return, oblivious to anyone else’s eyes upon him.

“ _I_ should be painting _you_ ,” Diego murmured. “You’re the pretty one.”

Klaus preened. “I am, aren’t I?”

“I could stay here all night,” Diego said, moving in to examine the sunset in more detail. He had never had much interest in art before, but knowing every brush stroke had been applied by Klaus’s own hand, made the paintings fascinating to him. He felt as if he were staring directly into the man’s mind.

Klaus cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t you rather take me home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I owe a thank you to pocketsfullofmice, who wrote the amazing [And The Yellow Sunflower By The Brook.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559759/chapters/43992193)
> 
> It's my all time favourite Kliego fic and, although I tried to make this really different, I was definitely inspired by her representation of Klaus as an artist. It's incredible, and if you haven't read it already, you definitely should!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you’re thinking about fucking me against the windows,” Klaus said sweetly, wrapping his arms around Diego’s waist from behind. He pressed his hips forwards, making his erection obvious against Diego’s ass. “Don’t think I’ll let you do that on the first date.”

Diego nearly walked straight past the front door of Klaus’s apartment building. It was grand, white brick façade with an arched, glass door and wrought iron railings fencing it off from the road. Klaus smirked as he tugged Diego’s hand, pulling him back through the gate. Resisting the urge to feel like he should kick his shoes off before entering, Diego followed him through the glass door.

The lobby was vast and empty, with a marble floor and stone pillars framing the beginnings of a wide staircase. Klaus pushed him up against one of the pillars and caught his lips in a rough kiss, rolling his hips forward to gain friction against Diego’s thigh. A door opening somewhere above them caused them to spring apart, Diego wiped his mouth sheepishly against the back of his hand.

Klaus winked at him and turned to trot up the marble staircase. Diego followed him up six flights of stairs, admiring the view of his ass in the tight velvet suit pants. When they reached the top, he reached down to grab at it. They had emerged on to a sparse landing lined with doors.

Diego pressed in close as Klaus fumbled with a key, pushing him up against the door of his apartment and leaning down to nibble at the back of his neck. He pushed a curl of hair out of the way to get better access.

“Hey,” Klaus murmured, tilting his head forwards as his hands faltered on the lock. “If you want to come in any time soon, then I’ll need you to stop doing that.”

Diego took the key out of the man’s hand and unlocked the door, trapping Klaus up against it as he did so. He pushed the man gently through when it swung open, and then paused, astonished, on the other side. Klaus’s apartment was huge. An expansive open-plan living space stretched out before them, ending in floor to ceiling windows that dominated the opposite wall.

The space was decorated in a chaotic, bohemian style. A selection of fur throws had been slung over a green velvet couch in the centre of the room. Cigarette butts were piled up in an ashtray on the coffee table and an empty wine bottle was serving as a candleholder, dripping wax on to the scuffed surface. The surrounding space was taken up almost entirely by abandoned canvases, paint covered dustsheets and battered looking easels holding unfinished paintings. An assortment of dream catchers had been hung from the windows and a taxidermy anteater was stood proudly in the corner of the room, glassy eyes fixed upon them.

Klaus hovered at his side, looking suddenly nervous. He watched as Diego crossed the room to gaze out at the view. The city spread out before them, lights twinkling in the night. He reached a hand out to press against the glass. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that Klaus, a famous artist, was also likely to be extremely rich. He supposed the man’s habit of not wearing any shoes had thrown him off the scent.

“I know you’re thinking about fucking me against the windows,” Klaus said sweetly, wrapping his arms around Diego’s waist from behind. He pressed his hips forwards, making his erection obvious against Diego’s ass. “Don’t think I’ll let you do _that_ on the first date.”

Diego spluttered with laughter. “Actually,” he said, as the man slunk around to stand in front of him. “I was thinking it’s a nice view.”

“Oh?” Klaus pouted, leaning in closer, until they were almost nose-to-nose, his green eyes searching Diego’s face. “But isn’t it nicer now?”

“Not too bad,” Diego said, overcoming his sudden onset of nerves. He pushed the man’s suit jacket off his shoulders and set to work on his shirt buttons. “But I can think of a way to make it better.”

Klaus reached up to tug at the lace cravat.

Diego caught his hand swiftly. He tried to speak but his voice came out slightly strangled. “Um, no.” He cleared his throat. “You can leave that on actually.”

“Can I now?” Klaus said, raising both eyebrows. “If you like _that_ , then I am going to have a lot of fun with you.”

Diego grunted in response and continued to work open the man’s shirt buttons, revealing a delicious expanse of pale, creamy skin. Klaus moved in closer, making his job more difficult and shoving his hands unceremoniously under Diego’s tshirt. He leaned in and kissed him, opening his mouth pointedly and coaxing Diego’s tongue inside. Diego tugged at the last two buttons of the man’s shirt, sending them flying across the room.

He dipped his fingers beneath the waistband of the man’s pants, his fingers meeting a lacy hem. Diego froze, the man’s earlier words making sudden sense. He growled against the man’s mouth, causing Klaus to giggle and squirm in his grip as he pushed his hands further into the man’s pants. His fingers played over the lacy material covering the man’s ass. He dipped one finger daringly lower, pressing down on the fabric between the man’s cheeks. Klaus stopped giggling and moaned wantonly into his mouth.

“Bedroom?” the man asked, huffing the one word with difficulty against his lips

He tugged Diego across the room, their lips still locked together, and they tumbled through the bedroom door.

Diego didn’t get so much as a glimpse at his surroundings before he was pushed backwards to sit on the bed. Klaus settled immediately in his lap and ground down, purposefully against his erection, now straining painfully against the fabric of his jeans.

“Why are you still fully dressed?” Klaus complained. He began pushing Diego’s t-shirt up his waist, fingers dragging against the skin beneath. “What’s the point of looking like that if you walk around in clothes all the time?”

Diego barely heard him, focused intently on unfastening the man’s suit trousers and getting a better view of the lacy underwear beneath. Their knuckles bumped together painfully as they each attempted to unfasten the others pants.

“Fuck it,” Klaus huffed eventually, scrambling off him to stand in front of the bed. He unfastened Diego’s belt and pulled his jeans roughly off, before kicking his own suit pants down.

  
Diego caught a tantalising glimpse of distended black lace, before the man was back in his lap, only the fabric of their underwear between them. He cursed and fell back to lie fully on his back, reaching a fist to his mouth and biting down to suppress a moan. Klaus was almost bouncing in his lap. He grabbed the man’s hips, and pushed him up and away slightly, breathing heavily.

Klaus winked at him. The man’s cheeks were flushed pink and his lips parted. He leaned in to kiss Diego, rolling his hips purposefully back down as he did so.

“Would you like to fuck me?” he offered pleasantly.

“Oh God,” Diego said, lifting his head to get a better view of Klaus’s lace covered cock, rubbing against the distended fabric of his own boxer shorts. “I think I’m gonna need to.”

Klaus beamed at him, and lifted off him momentarily to scrabble around in the bedside table. Diego kicked off his boxers while he waited, propping himself on his elbows to watch the man. When Klaus turned around, the man’s gaze dropped immediately to his cock, eyeing it with an intensity that made Diego feel almost self-conscious. He reached out to try and tug down the man’s lace panties but was batted away. Instead, Klaus leaned down, ass in the air and wrapped his lips around the head of Diego’s cock.

Diego cursed and gripped the man’s hair, pushing him down. Klaus moaned around his cock, and began to bob his head up and down, eyeing him from under thick black lashes. Diego let him continue until he was on the verge of coming and then pushed him off, reaching for the condom that the man had dropped on the bed.

He looked back up when Klaus grabbed his right hand and began covering the fingers with lube.

“What are you-?” he said, frowning in confusion,

“If you think you’re going straight in with _that_ ,” Klaus said, gesturing at his cock. “Then we’re going to need to talk.”

He finished lubing up Diego’s fingers and pulled the man’s hand around to his ass. He pushed aside the lace and pressed Diego’s index finger inside him with a groan.

Diego stared up at him, the unfamiliar sensation of tight, clenching heat around his finger. “That’s not talking,” he pointed out, as Klaus began to rock back and forth on his hand.

“Not now, big boy,” Klaus said, throwing his head back and moaning at the ceiling. “I’m busy.”

Diego could get used to this, he thought. He pushed another finger inside and felt a surge of satisfaction when Klaus whimpered approvingly. When he pressed in a third digit, the man pulled off him, pushing down his lace panties. Free of the fabric, he moved back to straddle Diego, and sank down in one fluid motion onto his cock.

“Fuck,” Diego gasped, the tightness and heat almost too much. He gripped Klaus tightly, his fingers digging in to the man’s slender waist.

  
“Just for the record,” Klaus said, between heavy breaths. “You _really_ don’t deserve this.”

“Yeah,” Diego said, bucking up involuntarily, “Yeah, I know.”

“Christ,” Klaus whimpered, pushed roughly up by the force of his thrust. He reached out and gripped Diego’s shoulders. “Do you _ever_ behave?”

“Do you want me to?” Diego asked, continuing to push his hips up in rough, unsteady thrusts. He watched in fascination as Klaus’s eyes fell closed, his cheeks flushed, his mouth fell open. The lace cravat was still fastened around the man’s neck.

“Oh no,” Klaus murmured, beginning to move in time with the thrusts. His cock dragged slow and heavy across Diego’s stomach. “No, please don’t.”

Diego sank back into the sheets as Klaus began to set the pace, riding him with fervent enthusiasm. The man was issuing a steady stream of whimpering, biting his own swollen lips and gazing down at him with passionate intensity. Diego lifted a hand and pressed it down over the man’s cock, rubbing the hot flesh against his stomach.

“I…can’t believe,” Klaus huffed, bucking forwards into his grasp. “That you thought you were straight.”

“Why?” Diego said. He formed a loose fist around the man’s cock and began to pump it, grinning cockily when Klaus rocked harder in response. “Too good?”

“It’s…” Klaus lifted his hips, paused for a moment, and then sank down slowly, groaning as he was filled. “Quite nice.”

His hands had tightened on Diego’s shoulders, gripping so hard he was sure there would be bruises there in the morning. The man leaned in low, folding at the waist to lick a wet stripe across Diego’s nipple ring. Diego groaned at the changed angle, and began to thrust up again, lifting his hips repeatedly off the bed to slam into the man above him.

Klaus moaned wantonly and Diego felt the man’s release coat his hand and stomach. He let go and pulled the man in by the lace cravat around his neck, holding him in place as he bucked into him.

He managed another few thrusts before Klaus tugged his nipple ring between his teeth. He came with a tortured groan, fucking the man clumsily through his orgasm, and then collapsed, exhausted on the bed beneath him.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh... this was just porn really, wasn't it? But haven't they earned it? 
> 
> The last chapter will go up soon! Maybe there will even be some plot in it... Thanks so much for reading this far!


	10. Chapter 10

They were awoken the next morning by the buzz of Diego’s phone. He blinked himself awake, to find Klaus draped heavily across his chest. The man was still completely naked, and had at some point kicked the covers off in the night, providing Diego with a glorious view of his long limbs and wiry muscles.

Diego half heartedly reached for his phone, barely shifting from his position under Klaus as he lifted his jeans from the floor and extricated the mobile from the back pocket.

“’Sup?” he said sleepily into the phone after glancing at the caller ID. He trailed his fingers over Klaus’s back, drawing lazy patterns over the pale skin.

“Diego,” Allison hailed him impatiently. “I’m outside your apartment. Would you get your ass out of bed and come answer the door? I want to hear how it went.”

Diego groaned. He lifted a hand to play absentmindedly with Klaus’s curls. The man’s hair had become even more tousled over night. “I’m not at the apartment.”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. He could practically see the frown lines creasing Allison’s forehead.

“Where are you? It’s seven am.”

Diego made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. Klaus was stirring, lifting his head slightly from Diego’s shoulder to watch him talk. He blinked up at him, bleary eyed.

“Would you like me to explain?” he asked sweetly, millimetres from the phone.

“Oh, _shit_. Sorry!” Allison laughed nervously at the sound of Klaus’s voice. There was an awkward pause while she attempted, and then failed, to bite her tongue. “Jesus, Diego, that was fast.”

Klaus giggled into the skin of Diego’s neck. “What can I say? He’s irresistible.”

“He’s really not,” Allison said, as Diego pushed Klaus down his body in an attempt to get him out of hearing distance. “I’ll call you later, Diego.”

“You know,” Klaus said sleepily, as he hung up. He was eyeing Diego’s hand which was still pushing him insistently down the bed. “If you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“Not what I was…” Diego allowed the phone to slip somewhere beneath the mass of pillows. He propped himself up on his elbows, wondering why he was declining the man’s offer. “But yeah, go on then.”

Klaus tutted at him, his hands running absentmindedly up and down Diego’s thighs. “You mean, _yes please Klaus, that would be lovely Klaus.”_

“Yes please, Klaus,” Diego intoned. His attempt at a bored tone was not particularly convincing. His morning hard-on was now rubbing frustratingly against Klaus’s chest. “Please do get on with it, Klaus.”

“ _Rude_ ,” Klaus sighed, wriggling further down the bed. He lifted himself up far enough to wrap a hand around Diego’s cock. “But I’ll let it slide _,”_ – he ran his hand up and down the length – “because I want you in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Diego asked. The single word was an effort, huffed out around a ragged breath. “You like that?”

“Do you like that I like that?” Klaus retorted. He smirked up at Diego as he leaned in to brush his lips lightly against the head.

“Fuck yeah,” Diego reached down to press his thumb against the man’s lower lip, pushing his mouth gently open. He guided the tip of his cock inside, issuing a low groan as the swollen head was encapsulated in wet heat. “Works for me.”

Klaus ignored him, settling in to his task. He took his time, lapping at the head for just long enough to make Diego moan, and then pulling back to smirk at him with an expression of deep satisfaction.

It didn’t take long for Diego to finish. Klaus worked his tongue expertly along his length, smiling and humming against the sensitive skin. When Diego came, the man rolled over expectantly, and smirked, tucking his arms behind his head.

"My turn," he said.

…

Diego returned the favour, awkwardly, and with far too many scrapes of teeth. But Klaus didn’t seem to care. He fisted his hands in the pillow and stared down at him, whimpering every time Diego met his eye.

“Was that… ok?” Diego asked hesitantly, once Klaus had finished coming, copiously, over his own stomach. He hadn’t expected giving a blow job to be quite such hard work. His jaw was aching.

“Yeah, you looked _good_ ,” Klaus said simply, pulling him in for a kiss. He pressed his tongue into Diego’s mouth, chasing the taste of himself.

When they pulled apart, the man frowned, looking momentarily reflective. He chewed his lip, forehead furrowing. “Why are there girls calling you at seven AM?”

“ _Girl_ ,” Diego said. “ _Singular_. That was Allison, my sister. She said she’s met you actually, at some swanky event. The Met or something?”

Klaus sat up very suddenly, cheeks flushing. “ _That_ Allison? The actress? She’s your _sister_?”

“Jesus,” Diego complained. “I wish you two would stop fangirling over each other.”

“Oh my God _,”_ Klaus sank back onto the pillows and stared wide eyed at the ceiling. “ _She_ was fangirling over _me_?”

“God knows why,” Diego said teasingly, reaching out to poke the man in the ribs.

“Oh, sure," Klaus said, suddenly looking very smug. He glanced coyly down at their naked bodies. "'Cause _you’d_ never do that.”

…

On Monday, Diego took Klaus along to his final session with The Therapist. They sat in the waiting room together, Diego nervously tapping his feet against the hard linoleum floor.

He had instructed the man to dress as normally as possible, and Klaus had chosen an excessively frilly blouse patterned with cats. He had looked so pleased with his choice that Diego didn’t have the heart to tell him to change. When The Therapist poked her head out of the office door to call his name, her eyes lingered on Klaus. Diego made a point of kissing him on the cheek before standing up.

“I’ll wait here for you, darling,” Klaus called, in an over exaggerated tone of domesticated affection.

He was laying it on a bit thick, Diego thought, but it seemed to pay off.

“It’s wonderful to see you’re making positive progress,” The Therapist oozed. She was practically rubbing her hands together with excitement.

“He’s not replacing her,” Diego said. As if Klaus could ever _replace_ anybody. The man was incomparable. Perhaps one of the weirdest people he had ever met.

“Of course not,” The Therapist said. “But it’s a sign that you’re feeling ready to move forward.”

Diego nodded. He had no longer been _in_ love with Eudora when she had died. But he _had_ still loved her. They’d been each other’s best friends and worst enemies, and he still missed her every day.

He remembered the way she had liked her coffee, the smell of her perfume, the way her laugh sounded when she was happy, or angry, or sad. But remembering didn’t hurt quite so much any more. Sometimes it even felt good.

“We’re just taking things slow, me and Klaus.” He hesitated. Klaus had spent most of last night doing something with his tongue that almost definitely excluded them from the taking-things-slow camp. “Emotionally.”

“Well don’t make the mistake of replacing emotional intimacy with sexual activity,” The Therapist told him breezily. She reached out to pull a pile of paperwork off her desk. “It can sometimes be a good idea to explore your feelings through sex but-”

“Please stop talking,” Diego said, wincing. The tips of his ears were burning, and he knew they’d turned scarlet.

“I’m going to sign you off as being ready to return to work.” The Therapist produced a pen with a flourish. “But you should feel free to continue seeing me when you return.”

Diego made a non-committal humming noise in the back of his throat, caught between the joy of being able to get back to his job and the horror at the thought of having to keep seeing this woman.

“Your choice entirely,” she told him, narrowing her eyes slightly as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “But I think you’ll agree these sessions have been beneficial.”

Diego made another non-committal humming noise.

“Very well,” The Therapist said, looking slightly put out. The usual sharp edge returned to her voice. “I’d like to suggest you continue to work on your intimacy and communication issues in future. Maybe Klaus could help you with that.”

He left The Therapist’s room with a signed Return to Work form and several notebook pages covered with scrawled suggestions for personal improvements. She had also emptied the toffee bowl into his hands before he left, and sent him from the office with a pat on the back, looking alarmingly misty eyed.

“How did it go, my love?” Klaus asked loudly, before the door had fully closed.

“It’s, ok,” Diego said. He crammed the last few toffees into his jeans pockets and waved the form at him with a grin. “I’m officially free.”

Klaus looked slightly disappointed. “Does that mean I have to stop calling you pet names?”

“Nah,” Diego reached out a hand to pull the man up from the couch. “You can keep doing that, baby.”

…

Klaus was _irritating_. Diego already knew that. But the man took every opportunity to prove it to him, from stealing his clothes to raiding his fridge. On one occasion, the man had nearly set fire to Diego’s apartment when what he promised to be a romantic surprise actually turned out to be several dozen precariously arranged candles.

Yeah. He was irritating.

But Diego also found him utterly fascinating. He didn’t bother turning on the television any more, content to sit and watch Klaus at the other end of the couch, curled up with a romance novel or painting his toenails with the same nimble fingered precision he used to apply oil to a canvas. 

Allison adored him. Their double dates invariably ended with Klaus and Allison disappearing together to apply face masks and talk about... well, from the amount of giggling they did, Diego didn’t think he wanted to know what they talked about.

He and Luther had developed an uneasy alliance, whiling away the time waiting for their return with endless games of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and the occasional hard-fought thumb wrestle.

…

A month after finishing therapy, Diego successfully closed his first case since returning to work. He turned down Chuck’s offer of a celebratory beer and spent the night celebrating with Allison, Luther and Klaus.

Klaus had chosen the venue this time, a significant improvement on Allison’s typical choices. It was a buzzing Mexican restaurant in a cramped basement with loud music, low lights and exquisite enmoladas.

Klaus had been working hard too, and had splatters of paint leading all the way up his bare forearms. The man was wearing his lace-up leather trousers again, paired with the white tshirt that still bore Diego’s charcoal handprint. He was wearing a new perfume and smelled strongly of apples. His hair framed his face in tousled curls, and his eyes seemed especially green beneath lashings of thick black eyeliner. Diego couldn’t take his eyes off him.

The four of them ended the night at the bar, Diego and Luther downing tequila shots in an attempt to outdrink each other. Klaus hung on his free arm while he drank, making Diego grin even as the liquor burnt the back of his throat.

When he turned to face the man, Klaus lifted a hand to brush away a drop of tequila that had escaped down his chin, his fingers lingering on Diego’s jaw. He leaned in and kissed the spot clean, tongue dragging slightly against his stubble.

“Ok,” Luther glanced between them, looking a little alarmed. Allison was busily examining her fingernails. “Let’s call it a night.”

“You look _pretty_ ,” Diego told Klaus, when they finally tumbled into bed an hour later. He was perhaps a little drunk on tequila and on the scent of apples on the man’s skin.

Klaus smiled at him, wriggling out of his grip and reaching down to push at the hem of Diego’s boxer shorts.

Diego pulled his hand back up and wrapped it around his waist instead. “Hang on,” he said. “Just… come here.”

He trailed off, pulling the man in to a warm embrace, running a hand up and down his back. Klaus melted in to the contact, rubbing his face, cat-like, against Diego’s neck. He let out a satisfied little moan when Diego pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I didn’t have you down as a cuddler,” Klaus murmured, lips curving into a contented smile. “Do you spoon too?”

Diego ignored the comment, pulling him closer instead, pressing another kiss to his forehead. Klaus had started running his fingers gently over Diego’s abdomen, tracing the shape of muscle beneath the skin with feather light touches. Diego let his eyes fall closed, relaxing into the sensation and the comforting feeling of closeness.

“I want to paint you,” Klaus murmured, breaking the silence.

Diego made a face, half opening an eye. “You already have.”

“No,” Klaus said, sleepily. “Literally paint you. I want to dip my fingers in paint and run them all over your body.”

“Sounds messy,” Diego said.

“Sounds fun,” Klaus corrected.

Diego grinned and pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek. “Sounds like my kind of therapy.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for your comments and encouragement while I've been posting this. It's been so much fun! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Because I'm obsessive and have an addictive personality, I've already got more fics underway. Keep an eye out for a paramedic!Diego AU! And in the mean time, feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kliegology)


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